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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905452">seek it out (and ye shall find)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/klemonn/pseuds/klemonn'>klemonn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and in my face is flashing signs [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Death, Disease, Established Relationship, Future, George-centric, Grief/Mourning, Grieving, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Letters, M/M, No beta we die like dream, Not a DSMP fic, POV GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Sad, Sick Character, Songfic, Sort Of, Terminal Illnesses, this is about IRL dt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:08:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/klemonn/pseuds/klemonn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> ‘From dust you came, to dust you shall one day return.’ </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>It’s been six months since Dream died. George and Sapnap have to deal with what remains, on both the inside and outside.<br/>The toughest part, though, is where to start.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>[Formerly titled 'hope is our four-letter word'] </b>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and in my face is flashing signs [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>seek it out (and ye shall find)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please read the tags beforehand! &lt;3</p><p>This fic is heavily based off of OneRepublic's "Counting Stars." The vibe, the lyrics, honestly I didn't even plan on having this fic based off of it (originally it was based off of Roadtrip, actually!) but I just found that Counting Stars fit it so much better.</p><p>Literally all of the song fits it so well.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>—</p><p>
  <i> Lately, I’ve been, I’ve been losing sleep, </i><br/>
<i> Dreamin’ about the things that we could be. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> But baby, I’ve been, I’ve been praying hard, </i><br/>
<i> Said no more counting dollars, we’ll be counting stars. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> (Yeah, we’ll be counting stars.) </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>Rain poured from the rooftop, dripping gently outside from the high gutters. It cast a deep blue hue over the room, like it was submerging the nook underwater, with patterns dancing across the carpeted floor from the branches dancing behind the windows. The wood would hit the window gently with a small thud, creaking back and forth in the wind’s harshness.</p><p>The day hung suspended between the late night and the early morning, the clock’s red 3:40 AM glowing in the darkness. The rain battered the windows like a flapping bird’s wings, thudding against the glass with every breath. Quiet enough to not awaken anyone who lay inside, yet loud enough to remind someone of where they were.</p><p>That’s not why a brunet was awake in his bed, though, staring at the blue-tinted ceiling above him. He couldn’t care less about the leaves hitting the window, the branches shuttering against the house’s exterior, the bushes beneath the windows shivering in the warm rain. The sounds were drowned out by his own thoughts, mingling with the static, becoming everything and nothing in his mind.</p><p>His breathing tethered him to the Earth, bringing him back to focus. Every time it tugged, though, his mind drifted further out, his heaving chest becoming numb. Something’s clawing at him, his chest, his ribs. It’s breaking the bone apart from the inside, puncturing his ribs. It’s leaving marks in his skin and pulling down into the mattress, sinking him into the abyss and unknown.</p><p>When his wooden door creaks open, he doesn’t bother to look. He would’ve, if he heard it, if he’d noticed a brown cat strutting across the room from the darkness. Maybe if he had noticed a figure emerge from the doorway, familiar and kind and bathed in blue moonlight, he would’ve made an effort to wipe the tear stains from his face.</p><p>“George.”</p><p>The tether yanked, and brown-and-blue eyes met dark green.</p><p>Not the green you, the reader, are expecting. Not the kind, yellow-looking, hazel-tinted eyes that softened at a glance. Not the tanned, long eyelash, droopy eyes that crinkled at every dumb joke the Brit made. They weren’t the cool, dusty green he wished he saw. Ones that were there, bright, and decorated with freckles surrounding the lids.</p><p>They were the dark green, like a forest. Or a dark yellow to George, like gold within an ore. Green and dark, almost brown, yet bright. They, too, crinkled and lit up the room, but in a different way. The eyes that met his were warmer, color-wise, even as the blue light struck them.</p><p>“Nick.”</p><p>His voice didn’t sound like his own, anymore. It had stopped a while ago.</p><p>“Why’re you up?” Sapnap asked, and George stared.</p><p>The door shut behind the man, before he walked over to the bed. The oldest sat up, now, and his dog and cat next to him shifted. The dog gave him a look of <i> ‘why?’ </i>, before tucking her head back into herself once more. Patches had joined both of them, at some point. He couldn’t remember.</p><p>George said nothing. Sapnap figured.</p><p>Silence passed between the two men. The green-eyed man stared down the heterochromia pair. His gaze wasn’t hostile, nor anywhere close to that. It was a silent plea, an open hand, beckoning George towards him, like a stray dog. His eyes darted back and forth ever so slightly, quietly asking for permission to enter a shut door. Like he asked, gently, <i> let me in. </i><br/>
“Talk to me, George,” he finally whispered. It was barely audible, above the slamming rain.<br/>
“What do I have to say?”<br/>
“Anything, George,” and when he says his name again, something cracks.</p><p>The Brit shook his head, eyes fixated on the blanket before him. His hands had begun shaking at some point, and he only noticed when a hand that was not his own slid over them. It was warm, comforting like honey dripping over and in between his fingers. He didn’t move them, a mute indication to the other boy to continue.<br/>
“Please,” Sapnap continued, his voice a quiet hum. “Talk to me.”</p><p>George looks up and makes eye contact with him, like he hasn’t in months. He wondered how shitty he looked, how many dark bags piled beneath his eyes, how disheveled his hair looked. He wondered if he still looked as pretty as Dream made him felt, if the freckles the younger boy used to kiss were still there, after all the months of laying indoors.<br/>
There’s so much he wanted to say. So many words piled at the back of his throat, like bile, reading to fall from his tongue. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, his lips moving to a silent monologue. Words are scrambled in his mind as he tries to cling onto a few, as he tries to put them together. Nothing forms.</p><p>Before he knew it, something was suffocating him. It felt like another common night, something uncomfortably warm and tight and hot against his rib cage.<br/>
Tonight, though, it was not uncomfortable.<br/>
Arms wrapped around his torso, with a nose buried in his neck, and a smell of faint, lingering minty cologne that failed to wash off in the shower surrounded him. The embrace was tight and soft at the same time, somehow, nails digging into his shoulder blades.</p><p>Seconds passed, before his own thin arms wrapped around the younger. He felt the tears stream down his cheeks harder, and he sobbed into the boy’s shoulder. He felt disgusted at the amount of tears that ran down his face, staining the other man’s shirt, but he couldn’t let go. No matter how many instincts screamed at him to shove the man off and pull in the tears, the ball had begun rolling.</p><p>George’s body shook as he tried to breathe properly. But the breaths came short and quick, escaping him before he could properly recover. He was shaking, his cries ringing out in the dark room as his sobs became uncontrollable. The brunet pulled the man impossibly closer, letting himself melt into the hug, becoming a pile of wrecked shambles.</p><p>He couldn’t speak at that point, even if he could find the right words. This moment, the intimacy, seemed to speak for him enough. The way his nails clawed into Sapnap’s shirt, surely leaving crescents in the man’s back for the morning to come, and how his body shuddered with every inhale he took. The whispers and gently <i> shh’s </i> coming from the American in his ear, comforting and quiet.</p><p>“I understand,” Sapnap whispered. “I understand. I miss him so much.”<br/>
His voice cracked at the ending, and he too hid his face in George’s shoulder. The two of them breathed slowly, out of sync, yet so understanding of one another. It felt like hours were passing, slowly but peacefully, as they hugged.</p><p>“I know,” the younger brunet began, before clearing his breaking voice. “I know it’s… it’s hard to come up with words. Out loud.”<br/>
George could only nod, still shaking.<br/>
“So I have a different idea, one that I’ve tried myself.”<br/>
The Brit stayed silent, not trusting himself to speak, lest he let out another sob. After a moment, the taller continued.</p><p>“Please try.”</p><p>—</p><p>
  <i> I see this life, like a swinging vine, </i><br/>
<i> Swing my heart across the line, </i>
</p><p>
  <i> And in my face is flashing signs, </i><br/>
<i> Seek it out, and ye shall find. </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>
  <i> Six months ago. April 14th, 2022. You kissed me goodbye. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I could taste the orange juice on your lips, still. When you backed away, I licked it off my own. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> You squeezed my hand and told me it was going to be okay. You used to whisper to me that it would be alright, that the tests would come back negative some day. One day, the scans would show a silver lining. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> But here it was different. You stared into my eyes, but there was something different. Something had changed. You knew, didn’t you? Beforehand. You knew that it would come so soon, but you gave me hope. You tried to give me hope. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> On that day, you held my hand in your right and Sapnap’s in your left. I could feel your pulse on your wrist. It felt so different than before. Your eyes are naturally droopy, yet big. It’s my favorite thing I like on your face, aside from your mouth. Your nose, too. It’s slightly crooked, with a crescent shaped scar from a few years ago. And the freckles that dot it, too, even if they’re faded now. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I have that habit. Of speaking, like you’re still here. Like I’m typing a text to you casually, breathing in your familiar pine scent still. But all you left me was your hoodies and your detergent, and your Patches (she’s still a good girl. I’m sure you know that, though.) </i>
</p><p>
  <i> You left me behind a lot. I just like being salty <strike> even while you’re gone. </strike> </i>
</p><p>
  <i> You left behind so much stuff, to everyone, too. You left behind a legacy a man in his 50’s would dream of leaving. I just wish you hadn’t left it so soon. Sapnap wishes you didn’t, either, of course. <strike> I miss you so much. </strike> </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I remember our first kiss. It was fast, you dove in and gave a peck. It was in the rain outside the sushi place, a month after I came. It so fast I thought I hallucinated it. Now I think about it, that would be a good coverup if I didn’t return the feelings. You could’ve just told me it was, like, an intrusive thought or something. But the panic in your stupid eyes gave everything away, especially when I just bluescreened and stared at you. Sorry about that. But I think I made up for it, a few seconds afterwards. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I wonder if you know the SMP ended. The storyline came to a close, finally. It happened about three months after you left, and the fans were happy with it. You did an amazing job writing, and you still did, even after Wilbur mainly took over. No more buildings were destroyed, by the way, after you left. Any that were are on a backup, somewhere. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Karl took a tour of the SMP for the last time last month, by the way. The stream got over half a million viewers, even though it had been two months since anyone last logged on. He had the shaders on and everything. It was beautiful. He didn’t talk much during it, though. <strike> I wonder if it w as be  c aus e o f yo u </strike> </i>
</p><p>
  <i> The streamers have continued on, though. Alex’s finally about to try to make the steps to become a lawyer, Tommy’s still streaming, same with Ranboo and Tubbo <strike> they continue on the legacy, I like to think </strike> and basically everyone else on the SMP. Almost everyone. Some have left for other things in life, but they’re all happy. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I don’t remember the last time I touched Minecraft. <strike> Yes I do, it was before yo u le f t </strike> It’s been so long. I wonder if I can still do the things I used to do, with you and Sapnap. Maybe if I tried again, for once. But every time I bring myself to my PC, I can’t. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I still live with Sapnap, in our Orlando house. I wake up in our bedroom, and the babies are always laying next to me when I open my eyes. I’ve been able to get up easier, recently. I’m happy, but scared . Does this mean I’m  moving on   from yo u ? </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I still love you, to the moon and to the Heavens themself. I’d play chess with the Reaper himself, to try to win against him, even if the loss was to be dragged to Hell and back by the devil himself. Just so I could see your face for one last moment. So bright, just for me. The things I would still do for you make me feel like an idiot. It’s been months. But you’re still here, in my heart. Nothing’s faded, and everyday I wake up, to an absent bed. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Everything reminds me of you, even the smallest things. Smiley faces, vanilla ice cream, pine trees, hoodies. Minecraft. The taste and smell of sushi, after you brought me to that one place down the street for our first date. I think I nearly got food poisoning, but it was funny (after I finished feeling like garbage). It was worth it. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I can’t wear oversized clothing anymore, without thinking about you grabbing me from behind and burying your face in my hair at random times. I still have the oversized black hoodie in my closet. It has a lot of dust on it now. The only reason I know that is because I see it whenever I open the closet, but I haven’t bothered to hide it out of my sight. Even though I never wear it anymore, I think I like the idea of having something there. Of you. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> On your bed, before you closed your eyes, you told me one last thing. You promised me you’d look over me until the end. You’re agnostic, aren’t you? Why would you promise me you’d guard me until I joined you? Why would you do that to me? </i>
</p><p>
  <i> You didn’t make me any promises. You swore not to, while you looked at me. Your eyes were so dull. But you still had hope, back then, I think. I did too. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Maybe you always knew that this day would come, though. I like to think you didn’t, I like to think that you were as happy and oblivious as I was. Maybe I view our last times together rose-tinted. Maybe I am a fool, when it comes to you. Fuck. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Bad things happen to good people. I don’t understand why that had to apply to you, though. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> You lit up the room everytime you walked in. Or at least to me and Nick, you did. Your laugh, your smile. Maybe we were biased, but from other people’s looks, I don’t think so. I think I realized that when we met in the airport for the first time. You called my name, and I turned around. And then I saw your eyes, and everything fell into place at that moment. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Time’s been a blur, since you’ve been gone. I remember the viewing. I thought I stood there for ten minutes, with your friends and family. But eight hours had passed, somehow. I remember the staff telling us the place would close soon, but they just left us there, letting us stand there by you. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Your hands were always so hot, I could always hold them when I was cold. Holding your hand for that last time was so chilling. It was so weird. I think it all sunk in, then. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Closing the doors to the home was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Knowing that that would be the last time I’d ever get to see your face. <strike> a nd i’ll neV e r know what  color  yo u r eyes w ere </strike> </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I left a piece of me in that home. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Today marks the sixth month you’ve been <strike> dea </strike> <strike> de a d </strike> gone. The bed feels cold, still. But Patches replaces your warmth, now. She purrs on your pillow. I think she smells you, still. I was worried she would have broken heart syndrome, or something that a pet could have. But now she meows at your chair, sometimes. I wonder if you kept your promise. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> My PC has dust on it, now. I lied earlier when I said I haven’t touched Minecraft. I haven’t touched it at all. Everything reminds me of you. Us assembling it together, you laughing at a stupid joke Nick made. I reached for the RAM and our hands brushed, and you looked at me and I just felt this warmth spread over me. It sounds so cliche. But I miss it. I miss you. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I do remember the last time I went on my PC. It was the last time you and I were on the SMP together. You were chasing me through the hills, it was us boys on the server in the VC. Quackity was streaming. This was right before you got admitted to the hospital permanently. It was just us. We had all the time in the world, right within in our palms. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I wake up at 6 am everyday, just to fall back asleep. You’ve ruined my sleep schedule, even past death. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> We never got married. Legally, at least. I know you wanted to, but it just never happened. But you were there for me, in sickness and in health. And I was there for you. We didn’t need rings, when I think we had the red string. Your hand fit into mine too well for the universe to be against us. And yet here I am, at six AM, writing a letter to you with a shaking hand. </i>
</p><p><i> My life is ordinary, now. No more streams. No more donos. No more subgoals. I wake up, now I’m a barista. I get recognized a lot more I thought would be, but it hasn’t been as bad recently. I mean, you got recognized a lot after your face reveal, I don’t know why I’m surprised that I’ve gotten recognized. Especially as </i> The Dream’s <i> boyfriend. That was a wild day on Twitter. </i></p><p>
  <i> I wonder what would happen if I went on Twitter, and just tweeted like a &lt;3 or something. Do you think anyone would remember me? Do you think anything would trend? Do you think I’m a legacy you have? You told me to come with you, you told me you would blow up. You promised me. You’ve never been one to break promises, huh. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Wherever you are, I hope you’re doing well. I hope you wake up everyday in a world of cats, with a loved one nearby. I hope you know that me and Nick and the others are safe, in a home that used to be ours. Maybe you’ve moved onto another life, or maybe you stand by my side right now, waiting for me. Whatever it is, I hope I’ll see you again soon. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> If I were to say I’m happy, I might be lying. But the world’s getting brighter recently. I’ve been going outside more, I think. I can’t really tell, honestly, but I’ve been feeling more energized recently. Not all my days are spent laying in <strike> our </strike> my bed. <strike> I still sleep on the left side. </strike> </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I think I’m gonna wear your hoodie you gave me more. Not just your hoodies you let me <strike> steal </strike> borrow, but the one you gave to me. As it sits in the closet, while I write this, I feel more pulled towards it. I hope that’s you. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I think I’m crying. I can’t tell. I feel the tears running down my cheeks, I can’t really see the paper anymore. I don’t know what page I’m on, but I’ve been going on for so long. Thanks, Nick, for telling me to do this. I’m writing to a ghost of the past, one that will never read this letter. But with every letter I write, it feels like a weight is being taken off of my shoulders. Even with the pine candle burnt out next to me, it still smells like a forest. You were a flourishing forest to me. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> It’s been six months since you died. Seven months since I went on the SMP. We had all the time in the world, but it’s over now. I’m so proud of you. We all were. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I’m going to visit you later today. You were cremated, and sit in an urn in <strike> our </strike> no, it is our house. You sit in our house, but you have a gravestone. (I know having a gravestone while being cremated seems almost counterproductive, but I think it’s good. There are so many gifts by the headstone. I put your mask there.) It has a small smile engraved into it, to the right of your name. It’s the exact one that’s your brand, I made sure of it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i> You rest on the top of a hill, beneath an oak tree, so your stone watches the sun rise and fall. Me and Nick have some of you in two lockets with your signature smile on them. <strike> I only take mine off to shower and sleep. </strike> I’ve been meaning to release the rest of your ashes, but I always find an excuse. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Your mask is still there. It’s cracked and worn. The smiley face is fading, the left eye is nearly gone. The smile is wonky, like that stupid emoji you never stopped using. But I connected the ribbon on the mask to the gravestone. I hope you adorn it in the afterlife. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Ivy has grown over it, the last time I went. It’s getting hard to read everything on it. But I’m going to clean it off when I go today, and light a candle. <strike> like I always do. </strike> It’s the pine one. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> I love you, Clay. I always will, even when the sun itself burns out. Thank you. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Keep your promise, please. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> &lt;3 George. </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>
  <i> Old, but I’m not that old, </i><br/>
<i> Young, but I’m not that bold. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> And I don’t think the world is sold, </i><br/>
<i> On just doing what we’re told. </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>The pen fell from the pale man’s grip, rolling off the wooden desk and onto the carpet. His hand shook from the pressure he wrote with, and his handwriting could attest to it too.<br/>
Even with all of this, his breaths were slow. He inhaled and exhaled through his nose calmly, and the cold air no longer felt hostile. It soothed him, seeping into his bones and swirling around his core. Time around him felt like honey again, and he closed his eyes.</p><p>Three papers lay on the desk beneath his right hand, crinkled and stained in all their white, lined glory. Edges of the pages were a drying wetness from tears that had fallen. Papers that had started being used mere minutes ago looked weeks old already, with some of the ink bleeding out ever so slightly. But even then, after all of these, the writing remained legible enough for someone to read.</p><p>Not that anyone would ever see this writing again.</p><p>With drooping eyes, George stood from his chair and wobbled towards their closet. He opened the door slowly, and eyed the urn that rested upon a drawer inside.<br/>
“You told me you wanted the ocean,” he whispered to no one. “The ocean is where you shall go.”</p><p>—</p><p>
  <i> I feel something so right, </i><br/>
<i> Doing the wrong thing. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> And I feel something so wrong </i><br/>
<i> Doing the right thing. </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>The birds chirped quietly in the distance, the calls echoing throughout the sky. The sun had only begun to rise over the distant hills, covering the land in a saturated honey-tangerine, coating the Earth in warmth entirely. The grass was a mixture of emerald and hessonite, blowing softly in the gentle breeze.</p><p>The trees scattered at the borders of the yard blew carefully, orange and red leaves falling off and slowly blowing through the wind. They swirled and spiraled around George and Sapnap, occasionally brushing on their clothing and landing around their feet. The grass was littered with dying, wet leaves of autumn.</p><p>The air smelled like sap and petrichor, cold and brittle in his lungs. It took George everything to not cough, to not look at the steep hill far away from him. Instead, he only stared at the pathway beneath his feet, leading to higher ground. The hoodie he wore blew slightly, and he carefully crossed his arms.<br/>
Sapnap walked closely behind him, pine-scented candle in hand.<br/>
And an urn in the other.<br/>
George held a pair of strong scissors to help clear off the gravestone, as well as a green BBQ lighter for the candle. His lips felt chapped in the dry air, yet he made no effort to soothe the soreness.</p><p>The trudge up the hill was not a physically fatiguing one, but it was tiring every time- mentally. The steps leading upwards to a stone that only stood for show, that represented something so dear to him lost. Gone, as the stone watched the sun peek higher above the horizon.<br/>
With every step the boys took, something in them shifted. It was no longer the early morning, or any time at all. The birds fell silent in the stillness, and the clocks ceased to move. With beckoning arms, sadness led them in.</p><p>Underneath the great oak they stood, in the morning dew-ridden grass. The headstone looked like how it always did- several gifts left by it, several candles destroyed by the elements. Photos left by it, some chipped away and cracked, and others brand new. And like always, time and time again, the mask stayed there. Cracked, yet like steel.<br/>
Carefully, George took the scissors and snipped away at the ivy entrapping the marble. The leaves and vines fell away and off of the marker, revealing the text in its full glory.</p><p>
  <i> ‘Clay Hayden.’ </i><br/>
<i> ‘August 12 1999 - April 14th 2022’ </i><br/>
<i> ‘A beloved creator, friend, brother, son, and boyfriend. Gone but not forgotten, taken too soon by an unforgiving illness.’ </i><br/>
<i> ‘From dust you came, to dust you shall one day return. Sleep until eternity; until we are together again.’ </i>
</p><p>The small smile engraved in the corner was fully shown now, no longer a hidden half-smirk behind the overgrowth. Absentmindedly, George ran his thumb over it, reveling in the dip beneath his finger pad.<br/>
Sapnap inhaled and placed the candle in front of the grave, before taking the lighter from the older man. With a click and a switch, a flame flickered at the end of the lighter, and was then pressed to the new wick in the candle.</p><p>The wick was set alight, and Sapnap stood back up with the other man. The two of them watched as the flame flickered back and forth, melting the wax around it, with ever so small smoke rising into the air. No one could smell the pine in such an open environment, but it was the sentiment that lay within the candle’s core.</p><p>They stood there for a moment longer, just standing in the moment. George watched as the orange sun hit the side of the marble, making it seem almost ethereal in the early hours. The birds in the distance sang the song, to find the loved ones. And somewhere, both of them could hear people beginning to awaken to begin their days, their cars soon to start up. </p><p>Slowly, George pressed a kiss to his fingers, before planting his hand on the gravestone. Sapnap followed in suit, and the two let their hands linger there for a moment. Just for a second longer, maybe time could stop. And they could stand here like statues, watching over the hill, down below where the people lived.</p><p>The Brit’s hand gingerly slid off the marble, returning to his side. The younger gave the marble a gentle squeeze, before bringing his arm back and casting a sad glance at the stone. He gently opened the urn, and the pair got two small portions of the ash inside.<br/>
George, with his beloved in his hands, whispered.<br/>
“Goodbye, love. I’ll see you again.”<br/>
And with that, he let the ash fall through his fingers, onto the grave and through the wind. He watched as some got caught on the stone, whereas others continued to fly through the morning breeze and down the hill. Forever to continue until the worlds collided.</p><p>The same happened for the ash in Sapnap’s hands. It swirled in the wind, like a miniature tornado trying to find its way back into the clouds. It scattered in the air, falling everywhere and anywhere, flowing down the hill.<br/>
It’s an odd emotion, watching some of your friend scatter into the unknown. Even the ash at their feet by the grave would inevitably be lost overtime, the elements guiding it away.</p><p>George’s hand drifted to the smiley locket around his neck, gently rolling the jewelry back and forth in his hand. Even as he watched the ashes float away, he had some right next to his heart until the end.</p><p>“Are you ready?” The Texan murmured gently.<br/>
It felt like thirty seconds, when in reality it had been ten minutes that they had stayed standing there. Still as stone, watching the gray specks dance along the peach background of the sky. The urn had been shut once again, the remainder of his friend safely stored away.<br/>
“Mhm,” George nodded, looking away. He didn’t trust any words to leave his mouth, much less any expressions to show on his face.<br/>
Sapnap put his hand in George’s, and the two walked away from the stone. The blue-and-brown-eyed casted one last glance behind him, like it was the last he would see of the marker.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <i> I couldn’t lie, couldn’t lie, couldn’t lie. </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>They waited until night to go on.</p><p>The drive to the beach felt like an eternity, the two men sitting in silence. George had been zoned out on the way to the graveyard, his thoughts a mess of staticky mumbling. Now, though, he was so aware of his surroundings he thought he would tuck and roll out of the car. Everything was so alive, grabbing him, shredding him apart.</p><p>He tugged at the hem of his hoodie, the black material still soft in his hands, even after months of no use. It was still so big on him, falling to the mid-thigh and covering his hands. He pushed up the sleeves to his wrists, before letting them fall back again. It felt like a hug when that happened.</p><p>The car rolled over sandy and asphalt terrain, rocks beneath the wheels hitting the bottom of the car with every turn. George held onto his seat belt tighter, staring at his lap while Sapnap maneuvered the car.<br/>
They pulled into a sandy parking lot, and the Brit shakily opened the door and closed it behind him. The urn was tucked beneath his arm, alongside his letter and the lighter. He heard the other car door slam shut, and looked over to see his friend staring at the ocean. The moon rose above it, casting the dark, depressing blue with the bright moonrays.</p><p>George looked at the sea, too, and they stood there in the quietness. Seagulls cried overhead, the salty air drying his lips and eyes. He wondered if he stood there for long enough, he wouldn’t be able to cry anymore.<br/>
With a gentle sigh, he walked around the car and tugged on the other man’s hands. Sapnap looked at him and nodded, and George placed his foot on the sandy slope down to the beach.</p><p>They walked together, side by side, lockets clinking against their chests with every step. George’s shoes grew sandy and slightly damp, but he couldn’t feel anything beneath his neck. The cold air choked him, squeezed his hands and airway so tightly. The only warmth he felt was the tears that had been on his face earlier, but even those were now dry and uncomfortable against his cheeks.</p><p>There was a specific spot they were trying to get to. It would take a bit, but it was Dream’s favorite place in Florida- a hidden, small cove by the brightest parts of the water, with tidepools dotted around. The water was cooler and more teal there, with life swimming through the mini ponds. At night, the water was so clear, the sea became the sky itself. They’d dip into the water and lay on their backs, and float amongst the stars themselves.</p><p>That was why they had waited hours to do this. To let him swim with the constellations again.</p><p>It felt like forever until they reached the familiar, secret entrance, hidden by bramble and dead sticks. They poked and prodded at the pair until they reached the other side, but left no tears or damage in the clothing (unlike many times before). The place looked as beautiful as ever, but there was something missing. Someone.</p><p>Yet it felt the closest to home George had experienced in months.</p><p>Carefully, the two stepped down the stones to the water, gentle waves rolling against the sandy shore. The stars reflected in the water, and the moon hung suspended above the horizon. Stardust glimmered in the water, gently rippling with every tug of the tide. In the silence, with no birds now, it felt as if the water was whispering with each crash.</p><p>George placed the urn on a smooth rock (well, the closest to smooth he could find). Carefully and gently, he uncapped the silver top, thumb caressing the exterior.<br/>
He held his letter above the urn, and with a gentle flick, held the flame beneath the papers.<br/>
Slowly, the fire overtook the paper, burning the edges. The paper turned black beneath the licking flames, before curling up on itself and turning into ash. He let go at the last minute, right before the fire could reach his fingers, and the rest disintegrated into the urn. He peered into the darkness, watching the ash mix with ash.</p><p>“Wait,” Sapnap said from next to him, and held his hand out for the lighter.<br/>
George handed it over to him, and the man pulled out his own set of papers. There were four pages, the paper slightly thinner and more crumped than the other’s had been. With a soft flick, he lit his own pages aflame, and held them over the urn as well.<br/>
The ash fell into place, before the entire paper went in, burning on the way. After a moment, the smoke ceased, finally letting the ash settle, peacefully.</p><p>The green-eyed boy held the urn in his arms, and together they walked closer to the sea.<br/>
The shorter brunet gazed into the water, watching the stars dance beneath his eyes. The cold water splashed at his and Sapnap’s feet, the only thing separating them being a rock as a platform.<br/>
“Are you ready?” Sapnap whispered.<br/>
George nodded.</p><p>He placed a pale hand on the golden and engraved urn.<br/>
And together, they released the man into the sea, forever with the letters they’d written so dearly.</p><p>George thought he would feel different after it, but he felt the same. Maybe something was different; a weight lifted off of his thin shoulders, something lighter in his chest, tugging him forwards. But he held Sapnap’s hand in his own as he watched the ash mix with the water, turning into stardust among the moonlight. With every breath he took, a wave crashed in the distance.</p><p>What if they had gotten married, he wondered. Would anything have changed? Would he live with less regrets. Not lay awake at night, wondering what would’ve happened if they’d exchanged rings at last.<br/>
Now wasn’t the time for thoughts like these, though. Now, his lover floated endlessly throughout the seas.</p><p>He cast his gaze upwards at the stars, eyes darting from the moon to the stars and back. The constellations glowed above them, the starlight twinkling benevolently. If he looked close enough, he could see one flicker at him, like a wink in the night. Maybe he could imagine a cat next to the stars, if he connected the dots in the right places and order, curling up next to the wink. </p><p>Somewhere in the distance, Dream could dance along the galaxies.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <i> Everything that kills me, makes me feel alive. </i>
</p><p>—</p><p>George sat in his room again, the clock a dim red 6:00 AM. He wore the hoodie in his sleep after running it through a quick wash, just to get the sand off. It still smelled of pine, after all this time.<br/>
He held his phone in his hands, with the Twitter app redownloading. A voice far too familiar for his liking played in the background on his phone. It was a cover, of a pop song that had been played to death in his opinion. He never grew tired of it though, only because of <i> who </i> the cover was from.<br/>
You can probably guess the rest.</p><p>He blocked out the song for a few seconds as he stared at his phone intently. The circle on the bird icon indicating its process sped up, and before he knew it, he was opening the familiar blue app. For the first time in months, after he had deleted it in the midst of a meltdown and had never bothered to reinstall it. Today, though... something shifted, he felt.</p><p>
  <b> Sign up </b><br/>
<b> Log in </b>
</p><p>Carefully, he pressed the log in button, before typing in his information and confirming. It took a minute for his timeline to load, and he inhaled shakily at everything on his TL. It was a mixture of talking about new or old Minecraft streamers, some inside and absurd jokes George couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Everything looked normal, except for one tweet that his eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to.</p><p><b> Kimora?? </b><br/>
<i> @ranboomybestie </i><br/>
i hope george and sapnap are doing good and know that we still love them and that dream is proud of them and i hope they have an amazing day today and that both sides of their pillow are cold and the universe gives them everything they deserve</p><p><b> 908 </b> Retweets <b> 13 </b> Quote Tweets <b> 4.3k </b> Likes</p><p>
  <i> Lately, I've been, I've been losing sleep, </i><br/>
<i> Dreaming about the things that we could be </i>
</p><p>His heart thudded in his chest, before a smile crossed his face. Gently, he pressed the heart button, watching as the gray outline turned into a full, red heart. He knew it would be mere moments before fans would notice, but in the meantime, he could pretend like he hadn’t flipped everything upside down.</p><p>He refreshed the TL, before hitting the familiar blue button with the quil. His heart raced as he typed two characters into the empty tweet, before hitting the tweet button.</p><p>
  <i> &lt;3 </i>
</p><p>Immediately afterwards, everything exploded. The timeline, the replies, fleets, everything became shambles. His earlier inquiries about the ability to trend things would be tested, to see if he truly was remembered after all these months whizzing by.</p><p>
  <i> But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard. </i><br/>
<i> Said no more counting dollars, </i><br/>
<i> We'll be counting stars. </i>
</p><p>It took five minutes for “GEORGE” to start trending.<br/>
It took seven for it to get a description.</p><p>
  <b> GEORGE </b><br/>
<i> After months of being MIA, popular minecraft YouTuber and streamer GeorgeNotFound sends a tweet with a &lt;3 </i>
</p><p>In the dark room, he looked at the ceiling, to no one in particular. Patches, Cat, and Dog lay beside him, resting in the gentle atmosphere. Their pelts raised and lowered softly and quietly, their breaths barely audible over the quiet music.</p><p>
  <i> Lately, I've been, I've been losing sleep, </i><br/>
<i> Dreaming about the things we could be— </i>
</p><p>“I hope they’re right,” he whispered. “I try to make you proud. Everyday.”<br/>
He looked back down, but not at the floor. Not the phone.<br/>
His gaze was brought to the dusty stand at which his PC sat, the chair unmoving and headset not used. A candle sat on the desk, used only twice, a warm cinnamon and apple when lit. If he thought hard enough, he could smell it already.<br/>
It beckoned him towards the keyboard with warm arms, wrapping around him in a tight hug. He couldn’t escape it, even if he wanted to.</p><p>
  <i> But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard, </i><br/>
<i> Said no more counting dollars, </i>
</p><p>With shaking legs, he walked towards the desk and collapsed in the chair, spinning it back and forth for a minute. It creaked easily due to the lack of wear, and the seat felt as stiff as ever.<br/>
He brushed his fingers over the keyboard, the dust rubbing off on his fingertips, the RGB ready to be booted up again.</p><p>Exhaling a shaky laugh, he pressed the familiar power button.<br/>
The lights ran in the PC’s case again, the rainbow glowing inside the black tower. The keyboard lit up and was brought back to life again, the familiar soothing colors (half of which he couldn’t even see) started up. The three monitors took a bit to open because of how long it had been, and with a lopsided grin on his face, he slipped the headset over his ears again.</p><p>
  <i> We'll be, we'll be counting stars. </i>
</p><p>He clicked into the PC, and was met face to face with his computer background- a fanart piece, of the three of them in a field, the sunset in the background as they ran towards the unknown. Something in him tugged at his heart again.</p><p>George opened up OBS and Teamspeak.</p><p>He almost clicked the go live button, before he remembered something. He opened the drawer next to him hurriedly, before pulling out a small lighter. He held it to the candle, and the flame lit up the wick. The golden wax began melting around the dancing fire, and he let out a laugh. He didn’t know why he was laughing- maybe from the absurdness of sitting there again, maybe from how he kept looking to the desk to the right of his, expecting to see a familiar grin as they streamed together.</p><p>But there was no smile, only empty air. A chair that belonged to no one.</p><p>His finger clicked, and the “Go Live” button turned into a faded “Connecting…“ grey. He stared at it, paralyzed, as the “Starting Soon” image automatically appeared on the stream’s screen. </p><p>
  <i> Will anyone notice this? </i>
</p><p>A few minutes went by, anxiety running through his veins. He gave in and finally pulled up Twitter on his other monitor, still logged in after months of no usage. The first thing on his timeline was a tweet he never thought he would see again, familiar. Something in him starting to hurt, right in his chest.</p><p><b> dt updates! </b><br/>
<i> @dttwtupdates </i><br/>
george is now live!<br/>
|<br/>
https://www.twitch.tv/georgenotfound</p><p>
  <i> I feel your love, </i><br/>
<i> And I feel it burn. </i>
</p><p>His heart raced.</p><p>It took three minutes for “GEORGE IS LIVE” to start trending.<br/>
It took seven minutes for it to get a description.</p><p><b> GEORGE IS LIVE </b><br/>
Trending with: HE’S BACK, GEORGE<br/>
<i> After months of no activity due to fellow streamer Dream’s death, popular Minecraft YouTuber and streamer GeorgeNotFound goes live on Twitch </i></p><p>
  <i> Down this river, every turn, </i><br/>
<i> Hope is our four-letter word. </i>
</p><p>Ten minutes had passed with the “Starting Soon” screen still up, in all its glory.<br/>
George told himself he was just waiting for the notification to go back out, but he knew it was just an excuse for him to keep stalling.<br/>
One last time, he cast a glance over at the barren desk next to him. Patches lay by the chair, tail curled gently around her paws as one of her ears twitched.</p><p>
  <i> Make that money, watch it burn. </i>
</p><p>It had to be a trick of the light, an issue caused by his four and a half hours of sleep. But maybe, just maybe he saw the headset on the abandoned desk shift ever so slightly. Maybe Patches let out a purr coincidentally at the exact same time, warm and soft and calming to the bone. If he had focused hard enough, he could feel something cold pressed against his neck, only to disappear again. Maybe the meow Patches let out, before fully going to sleep, meant nothing more than an encouragement to the brunet.<br/>
<i> You promised. </i></p><p>
  <i> Old, but I’m not that old. Young, but I’m not that bold, </i><br/>
<i> And I don’t think the world is sold on just doing what we’re told. </i>
</p><p>With a hollow breath, George turned back to the monitor and joined a Teamspeak channel.<br/>
He turned off the starting screen, and flipped on his webcam. His hair was grown out slightly, messy with hair beginning to get in his eyes. His skin looked as pale as ever, and his eyes were still the chocolate brown and bluebell flowers they were all the times before.</p><p>
  <i> And I feel something so wrong, doing the right thing. </i>
</p><p>Through his headset, he heard three people join the channel with him, waiting in silence for his first words.<br/>
With a shaky inhale, his eyes fell upon the webcam. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean crashed against the rocks, throwing the sea and stars into the air, mixed with the ashes and Earth. The candle moved in a pattern that was too vigorous to be normal, flickering towards him gently. Inhaling the warmth, words fell from his lips, pooling at the microphone.</p><p>
  <i> I couldn't lie, couldn't lie, couldn't lie. </i>
</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>
  <i> Everything that drowns me makes me wanna fly. </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you liked it, don't feel afraid to comment !! Validation fuels me HAHAH.</p><p>Also, if you wanna see more, follow me on my Twitter. I swear not all of my fics are this sad. Unless?</p><p> <a href="https://twitter.com/gildedobsidian">Twitter!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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